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Lucius paused in the gray old hall, where twilight came sooner than in any other part of the house. He longed to see Lucille, to clasp the dear hand, to hear the low gentle voice; for the excitement of those few busy hours seemed to have lengthened the interval since he had last seen her. Yet he shrank with a strange nervous terror from the idea of meeting her just yet, while his mind was still agitated, still perplexed, by the mystery of last night. It was a relief to him when Mrs. Wincher told him that ‘Missy' was still lying down in the parlour.
‘She's been up and down stairs to give her grandpa his beef-tea, and such-like, but has laid down betwigst and betweens,' said Mrs. Wincher. ‘She don't seem to have strength to keep up, poor child. I should think some steel-wine, now, or as much quinine-powder as would lie on a sixpence, would do her a world of good.'